The Rise of Wilford Warfstache
by NykollSpicer
Summary: After the events of "Who Killed Markiplier?", Wilford is taken to a psychiatric facility for treatment of his obvious mental trauma. Amid the revealing inner turmoil, we begin to see Wilford morph into the man we all know and love. Join Dr. Miriam Antwood on her quest to discover the man behind the mustache and attempt to make him well again.
1. Chapter 1: Intake

_**"I do not own the majority of the characters in this story. Wilford Warfstache and any others belonging to Mark Fischbach are his property alone and are merely used here for fan interpretation and entertainment"**_

* * *

In all of my years as a psychiatrist, I had never seen such a broken man. His head seemed to twist as he sat restless in the chair of my office. Through his rose colored glasses, he seemed to view the world around him as a fallacy. Though he smiled, I sensed the pain growing inside of him as reality desperately scratched from within. Whatever had happened to him that night, it had truly shattered who he once was.

I'd read about him in the papers before. Despite the media uproar about the accidental shooting of a fellow hunter during a safari, the man seemed to have had a steel shield against the criticism. Of course, that man had been injured, not killed. The question of whether or not Warfstache had actually murdered Mark Fischbach is still yet to be uncovered. I agreed, though reluctantly, to work alongside the CPD while they investigated the murder. As far as I knew, nothing else has been uncovered. The manor was locked up tighter than a drum, no one allowed in or out.

In fact, as far as I was aware at that time, everyone involved had gone missing. By the time authorities finally arrived, there wasn't a soul on the grounds except for Warfstache. The staff had disappeared. The other guests were missing. Detective Abraham "Abe" Lincoln P.I., who was a guest the night Fischbach was killed, also disappered. The CPD had branded him as another suspect in the case because of this and have been searching for him since the day that Warfstache was brought in. From what I knew, he was another friend of Fischbach's, and not a direct employee of the Department.

The deeper facts of the case had been locked away from me for the moment. I informed the Chief of Police as soon as I made my initial diagnosis of Warfstache that I would need to know the ins and outs in order to better help him as my patient. If HE didn't open up about what happened, perhaps they could at least shed some light on the subject. Until that time arrived, I was in the dark.

When he first arrived...oh, I'll never forget the laughter. It had cut through the typical sounds of a psychiatric facility like a knife through warm butter. It rang and echoed about the sterile white halls toward my office and woke me up like a bugler at a military camp. I was used to the occasional bout of insane laughter, even the horrifying screams of the insane became background static after a while, but I will never forget that laugh. As the orderlies held on tight to either of the man's arms, he simply hung his head, shaking it back and forth, letting out a deep, belly laugh. It was as if he was having the time of his life.

"It was all a joke!" he'd said. "It was just a big, guffaw!"

I peered around the corner of my office door when I heard it and watched them slowly approach with him. His hair, a tangled, black, wet mass, danced about leaving drops of sweat on the floor below him as he walked. His arms strained in the straight jacket, making the orderlies on either side of him tighten their grip every now and then while still maintaining cold, straight faces. His feet seemed to tangle with one another as he walked, as if they had forgotten how to move forward. When they reached my office, the orderlies stopped and struggled to keep him still. He shook to and fro, breathless from his laughter.

When he finally looked up at me, through the jungle of black hair I got a first glimpse at the eyes of my new patient. They were dark, but sad to me. The chocolate brown rings of his irises seemed to tear as the trauma behind them banged against them. At the same time, I could see the hope in his eyes that all of this madness was exactly what he perceived it to be: a big, sick joke. His thick, black mustache turned up hand in hand with his seemingly permanent smile. His wide grin displayed two rows of straight, well groomed, brilliantly white teeth. That smile swelled and dissipated with each deep breath he took. You'd think the man had done a mile run to get here. Pained though it was, it was such a pleasant smile. It was the smile of a broken man who only wanted everything to sort out. It was almost...pitiful to look at.

"Hello, I am Doctor Miriam Antwood." I greeted him as pleasantly as I could. This was standard for me, I tried my best to seem a friend to my patients. Makes them more comfortable rather than having a stuffy, pompous, authoritative presence when their minds are already fragile. I left THAT to my colleague, Yousef Hillmeyer.

At my introduction, Warfstache straightened up, stifling the spasms in his chest, and gave me a curt bow.

"Colonel William Warfstache. My friends call me 'The Colonel', you are most welcome to do the same."

As he spoke, his voice had a distinct vibrato. It was clear he was attempting to be polite, while also pushing down the inevitable laughing fits. After he introduced himself, he tightened his lips, though the corners jerked upward every now and again as he snorted and snuffed with the giggles.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Colonel."

Of course, I was well aware of who he was before they brought him to me. I always receive empty patient files waiting to be filled whenever I do an intake. The police determine whether or not the person in particular is a candidate for psychiatric care, and once they do, they process them at the station and send their paperwork to us to be processed here. It's all very by the book, standard procedure and all that.

"Do you like jokes, my dear?" Warfstache boomed, leaning forward toward me with a wink. His voice cracked, his throat clearly dry from the constant intake of breath to fuel his manic laughing fits.

"Why, yes. I enjoy a good chuckle every now and again." I replied, smiling back at him.

Warfstache threw his head back, letting out a hearty "HAW! HAW!" that hurt my ears. Then he slowly brought his chin back down, almost to his chest, and rose a brow at me.

"Well, this one's a DOOZY of a lark!"

"I'd like to hear all about it. Please." At this last word, I turned and held a hand out toward the chair adjacent to mine, beckoning him and the orderlies in. I crossed the room to sit and kept a watchful eye on them as they sat him down before me. One of them, the burlier of the two, gave me a knowing look that I returned as he stood behind Warfstache. The other, I dismissed. He seemed harmless enough for the time being. I allowed Phillip, the orderly who stayed behind, to remove his straight jacket. As it came off, he didn't seem to notice at all. Instead, he gave a few soft claps and shook his head, still chortling at this supposed "joke".

"Now, Colonel," I began, preparing my regular lecture that I had memorized down to the very last word for new intakes.

"I don't want you to view me as your doctor, but rather a friend you can open up to. Though, I advise you to remember that there are boundaries to this. As a man of your...considerable stature, I trust you know what I mean by this?"

In reply, he merely smiled. He neither nodded nor shook his head, but simply analyzed me as I spoke. With a nervous cough, I continued on.

"Er..My main goal here is to help you. I understand that the events of the past few days have been taxing, so I hope that nothing I ask you here will feel straining or pressuring on you. If there is anything you do not wish to talk about, we can save it for a later date. Just remember, the walls of this office are sealed tight, everything that we speak of stays within them."

Warfstache turned slightly, side eyeing the orderly behind him. He choked on a laugh for a moment before returning his gaze to me.

"Isn't that a funny joke lad?" He said, his voice rising and declining in volume and tone as he spoke. "It's all a joke you know!"

The orderly raised an eyebrow at me. I held up my hand to him and addressed the concern that I sensed he was attempting to express.

"You needn't worry about him. Phillip is a fine employee at our facility and he knows the rules. He's merely here to see that you're...comfortable."

Rather than indulge me with a simple token of understanding or even a nod, Warfstache instead clenched his mouth shut, turned away, and clamped his eyes closed as he, again, fell prey to a fit of chuckles. Each one sounding like someone slapping a hot water bottle while they stayed confined to his chest.  
Regardless, I carried on.

"Now...about this grizzly business at Markiplier Manor..." I moved on with caution as I noticed his eyes open and snap toward me. "Tell me, what is the joke? I would like to know what you find so hilarious. I'm quite curious."

He turned toward me, his eyes crinkling against his wide smile.

"It's a good one." he practically spit, the air of his gales bursting forth as he spoke.

"Please, tell me." I urged, hoping to at least get this little bit of talk out of the way.

"OH, it was a rousing little game. Almost like those you see at All Hallow's Eve parties as of late. Little mystery games, you see." His arms flew about as he spoke, dancing in the air as he made flamboyant hand gestures to match his story.

"Typically, though, EVERYONE is in on it. But my old friend, Damien, he must've had the bright idea to throw a bit of fun at me. Oh, that Damien, he's been such a fine friend all these many years. It's a might childish, but boys will be boys, you know."

As soon as the name 'Damien' left his lips, his seemingly happy demeanor appeared to crack. I hadn't a clue who Damien was at that moment, but whoever it was had obviously been close to him. Perhaps he was one of the guests who had disappeared?

His smile began to falter, just slightly, but enough for me to notice. Even his eyes seemed to droop sadly as he continued on. Through his continuous laughter, I could hear his voice grow more and more pained.

"Celine...Celine as well was in on the guffaw. They must have remembered that ghastly business with the safari...decided to use old Mark's party as the stage for a twisted little go around. I will say, the boy knows how to play dead among other things. Everyone pointed at me. 'He did it!' they all pinned it on me. Even that other chap, can't remember his name, decided to play dead for it all. Did a great job, I must say. Though, that fall must have hurt at least a smidgen. No matter, the boy stood and walked like it was nothing but a school yard scuff!"

"What boy are you referring to?" I asked. "Another guest?"

"Oh, pardon my manners. The District Attorney, yes, he was another guest. Never met him before that night. Must've staged the whole thing with Damien and Celine. He was a good sport, he was. Fake blood and all. Must have used the sauce from the Chef's dinner. It was a hoot...I daresay it could still be going on. This must be a part of it, yes?"

"I'm afraid not, Colonel. Your being sent here is far from a joke." I assured him, but he merely scoffed at me.

"Oh come now!" he mocked. "Slapping me in cuffs, throwing on the old white coat, and dragging me off in a white van to a psychiatric facility? HAW! Old Damien must still be up to his tricks." Suddenly, mid rant, he turned to an empty portion of the room and continued to speak as though to a different person entirely. "Do you hear that? Not a joke. I daresay, perhaps these chaps aren't privy to the whole matter, eh?"

"May I ask who you're speaking to?" I inquired, but my voice seemed to go ignored.

"Bully, bully indeed! This is quite the little ruse. H-here, look!" His eyes scanned my desk at these words, and before I could process what could have been going through his mind, Warfstache lifted my letter opener from my desk and swung it around to bury it between two of Phillip's ribs. I cried out in shock, I did not expect such a rash action.

"I can't kill anyone! See!"

As he held the letter opener against Phillip's side, he continued to let out howls of laughter. He pulled the blade from the poor boy and thrust it in again and again, twice before my cries alerted two other orderlies from the hall.

"It's all fake! Look at it, you'll see! It's all a show!" Warfstache cried as the two orderlies who came rushing in restrained him.

"We need a tranq!" I cried, rushing around my desk to see to Phillip, who now lay in a glistening pool of crimson as it seeped from his wounds.

"I'm fine..." he said, shakily. Holding his hands to his ribs. I removed my coat and pressed it down onto the wounds. I turned to see that both orderlies and Warfstache were now on the floor. His legs kicked forward and back as he became lost in a suddenly saddening fit. I could see the roof of his mouth as his mouth remained agape with his cries. What had moments ago been fits of hilarity suddenly became mournful, gut wrenching sobs.

"WHY?" he bellowed, his voice echoing throughout my office. "WHY DID YOU DO IT, LADS? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?"

Another orderly rushed in from the hall, a large syringe of tranquilizer in his hands. The two holding Warfstache down pushed down harder to keep him still as the needle disappeared beneath his flesh. Suddenly, his cries came to a grinding halt and his body went limp.

"Take him to his room. Make absolutely certain that there is nothing in there he can harm someone with. Keep the straight jacket on him from now on." I ordered. Each of the orderlies nodded as they lifted his now limp, tired body from the floor. His head slumped forward onto his chest, and I could hear a slight whimper as they carried him off, his feet grinding across the floor.

The third orderly helped me get Phillip off of the floor and the both of us proceeded to take him down the hall to our infirmary.

As we exited my dark, dingy office to the bright white lights of the hallway, I turned to watch Warfstache being carted off to the elevators. His body lolled back and forth as the two men beside him struggled to maintain his now dead weight. I could almost hear a soft sob echo from him against the walls as I turned away, focusing on getting this poor man some aid. I thought then that perhaps I now knew what I was in for with him as a patient. If only I knew how wrong I had been then.

* * *

The City Psychiatric Facility for the Criminally Insane

FILE #1192012

Patient Name: Col. William "Wilford" Warfstache  
Primary Psychologist: Dr. Miriam Antwood, MD  
Secondary: Dr. Yousef Hillmeyer, MD

Patient Intake: Dr. Miriam Antwood, MD

First Impression Diagnosis: Patient brought in in a state of hysteria. Laughing maniacally to himself, repeating the same phrase ("It was all a joke") over and over. Possible Borderline Personality Disorder or traumatic onset Psycopathy? Signs of late onset schizophrenia. or possibly Talks to people who aren't there sometimes. Refers to someone named "Damien" a lot during first conversation.

Patient was brought in after authorities scoured Markiplier Manor upon news that Mark "Markiplier" Fischbach had been murdered during a gathering with friends. Attempted to ask William about this, refused to acknowledge. Will further attempt to breech the subject as we proceed. Patient had to be subdued via tranquilizers at the end of first meeting. Attempted to stab an orderly with my letter opener shouting "Look, I can't kill anyone! I'll prove it.". Sign of Antisocial Personality Disorder? Definitive sign of psycopathy. As previously stated, induced by traumatic event.

Patient was taken to room 0628.

Patient Item Inventory: One pair of glasses with attachments, one pair suspenders (red), one pair khakis (tan), one pair boots (black), one button up shirt (yellow, white collar/cuffs), one 44. magnum pistol (siezed by The City Police Department)

Initial Prognosis: Therapy sessions three times per week alongside Fluphenazine (2.5 mg to start every 6-8 hours), Lorazepam (2 mg to start 2 times per day), and Trifluoperazine (3 mg to start, 2 times per day)  
These may change as patient progresses or digresses.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello all! Welcome to the first chapter of my Markiplier fan fiction. As you may have guessed, this is post "Who Killed Markiplier?" And this goes off of my theory of what happened. I will, to the best of my ability, keep things Canon in most areas. In others, I'm going to take some creative liberties. BUT regardless, I hope everyone enjoys :) I expect to be pretty frequent with this, if there are times that I'll be absent I'll be sure to let you all know. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2: Friendly Suggestion

All that blood...

I had returned from the infirmary not long after my first meeting with Warfstache, and all I could do was stare at the stains. Two misshapen, rusty colored circles now invaded the already dingy green carpet of my office. I stood for a long time immersed in them, calculating whether or not to even bother calling the janitorial staff.

My eyes moved to my once pristine, white doctor's jacket. It, too, had been tainted with large, scarlet blotches. I dismissed the idea of taking it to the cleaners. It was more expensive than just purchasing another. I took a moment to chuckle at myself for worrying about something so frivilous when a man nearly died in my office.

Our resident nurses immediately alerted the City Regional Medical Center the moment we took Philip in. His lung had been punctured; he required emergency medical care. Had I been more observant, perhaps the whole thing could have been prevented. I couldn't even find the words to apologize to him. While I didn't know him well, I still felt responsible for any fellow staff that came to harm at the hands of a patient.

Of course, we all knew what we were signing up for when we signed up for this profession. I just couldn't stop seeing all that blood.

I was snapped out of my daze when a hand touched my shoulder. I jolted in place, clutching my bloody coat to my chest. I turned to see the concerned eyes of my boss, Director Malkinson.

"Are you all right, Miriam?" he asked, his voice soft. That was unusual. Normally he was all business, very straight forward and even a bit cocky. He wasn't usually so compassionate sounding.

"A bit shaken, but I'll manage." I answered, dropping the hand holding my coat to my side. It was as if I were trying to hide it from him, ashamed of what had transpired.  
"May we talk?" he asked. Though, his tone seemed to phrase it as if it were a demand rather than a question.

I watched him slowly step to the chair facing my desk. His amber eyes flitted toward the spots on the floor behind it. His furry, grey brows rose in a brief expression of alarm before he shook his head and sat to face me. He motioned for me to sit, but for one reason or another, I chose to remain standing.

"I understand your first meeting with the Colonel was a bit rough. I can see that quite clearly now." he said, his typical business-like tone returning.

"Yes..." I replied, trying my best to keep my focus on his weathered face rather than the rest of the room. "Traumatic onset psychosis is my immediate suspicion. I've prescribed the appropriate medication. I'm...meeting with him again tomorrow morning."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Malkinson immediately replied. "Surely, you should give it a couple of days. See how the medication treats him, give YOURSELF a couple of days to recollect yourself. It isn't every day a patient nearly kills a man. Bruises? Sure. A few scuffs here and there? It's just another day at work. But to stab a man in the chest, and without warning? These cases, though it may be hard to believe for those outside of our walls, are very rare. I'm well aware of how jarring they can be."

"This case," I started, trying my best not to sound too defensive. "Is mine to undertake. I have always appreciated your advice, Director. However, in Warfstache's case, I think immediate intervention is the most apt route to take."

Director Malkinson's nostrils flared. I could see his bushy, white mustache twitch in disagreement. He ran a hand over his glossy head and stood, rounding my desk to stand in front of me.

"Look," he began, gruffly. "I know how you are about these more complicated head cases. However, this one needs to be handled delicately."

"We handle everyone in a delicate manner. We're psychiatrists." I clapped back, pursing my lips at him.

"THIS case..." he pressed. "Is a bit different. Regardless of the rarity of violence, regardless even of the familiar strains of psychopathy...this is one that is sensitive both publicly as well as intimately."

I felt my brow crinkle in confusion. The expression on his face seemed...suspiciously cold. He seemed to sense my befuddlement and reached over to shut my door and lock it. He spoke again, his voice lower and more tense.

"With the mayor missing, the murder case still open, and the Chief of Police breathing fire down the back of my neck, whatever we do with this man can directly affect us publicly. Normally, when we have criminal cases like this, the mayor is always lenient on the way we handle things. But with him out of the picture, unable to keep a hold on the Chief's leash, we are going to have a lot more cops snooping around our halls. This is bad for press. The man's trial is still forthcoming. If we show too little compassion, we are inhumane. If we show too much, we are consorting with a possible murderer in the eyes of the police force. We have to be careful."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...this case is all over the media. The front page is littered with that man's face, the murder, and the disappearances. They know he's here with us, they know that you and Dr. Hillmeyer will be testifying at the trial once they find evidence against him. This town's most beloved star has fallen, possibly to the hands of YOUR new patient. If we try too hard to help get him off with an insanity plea, the public will not be on our side. This is fragile...we need to think about the good of the hospital, the good of the rest of our patients. The Chief will be coming here within the week with results on the case...and depending on what those results are...we may just have to be a bit...What I'm saying is..."

It dawned on me...I knew exactly what he was trying to say.

"You're saying that you want us to ignore the illness plaguing this man. You want me to condemn him for a murder he may or may not have committed because you're too afraid of bad publicity." I sneered, backing away from him.

He gawked at me, taken aback at my reaction.

"Don't you want things to keep running smoothly?" he asked, a sickening glimmer of sweetness in his voice.

"What I want is to do my job and help this man in any way that I can. I took an oath, Director Malkinson. While I may not put my patients under the knife, any harm to the mind can be far greater than that of any injury."

"Tell THAT to Philip Davidson." Malkinson shot at me, a twinkle of twisted triumph in his eyes.

"What he did is the result of a horrific experience wherein he lost a childhood friend. The man is ill, and my intention is to do whatever I can to make him well again. If anything, it gives me even more gumption to get to the root of his problem and find a way to solve it. And that, Director, is what I WILL do. In doing so, I am not violating any of the guidelines of this hospital, so you can't throw me in front of the board for defying your orders."

I slammed my coat onto my desk, turned a heel and opened my office door. I held it against my shoulder tightly and roughly gestured with my other hand toward the hall.

"If you have nothing further to discuss with me, Director, I have some paperwork to do on Colonel Warfstache."

The finality in my tone clearly did not sit well with him. He glowered at me as he stomped toward the door. He stopped for a moment at the threshhold, glancing at me from the side with a sneer.

"You may not violate any of our set regulations, but if you jeapordize my hospital Dr. Antwood, I will find one reason or another to throw you at the feet of the board members to beg for their mercy." With that, he disappeared down the hall.

As soon as his feet left the precipice of my doorway, I thrust it shut and huffed as I slammed myself into my desk chair. I had never once in my life spoken to a superior like that. I had felt frustration toward them, even bitten my tongue a few times. But I had never once been so defiant. In a way, it felt pretty good.

Yet, underneath that small, sweet feeling of triumph, there laid a sense of foreboding and unease. Whatever I did from there forward would be looked at under a microscope. I knew that however I proceeded, I had to do it with caution. If not for me, then I would be cautious for the sake of the Colonel.

"Are you quite sure about this?"

My colleague, Dr. Yousef Hillmeyer, stood shuffling his feet and smacking a clipboard against his leg while he waited for me at the door to my office. His other hand occasionally lifted of its own accord to twist one of the tight, red curls that sat atop his head.

"After what happened with Philip Davidson, I'm not taking any chances." I replied, making sure that I had all of the necessary papers attached to my own clip board. I patted the pocket of my new coat, making sure I had an adequate amount of pens along with my tape recorder.

"But don't you think that having five people crammed into a padded cell will really make an impulsive man like that talk?" Yousef pressed. "It seems quite unnecessary."

My eyes trailed back to the now faded stains on my carpet. I didn't bother to call the janitor. I scrubbed the damn things myself. I'll admit, I'd grown paranoid that the custodial staff were spies for Malkinson after our talk the previous day. It was a rumor that had circulated around during my first year at the hospital. Before that day, I dismissed it. After that, I wasn't going to even allow myself to take that chance.

"I'm quite sure." I finally replied, standing up straight and motioning for Yousef to follow me.

Out in the hallway, three orderlies waited for us. As soon as we began walking down toward the elevators, they all followed us in line.

"Besides," I continued. "They won't be in the room with us. I instructed them to wait out in the hall. He's in a straight jacket, but I still want to make sure we have the man power appropriate for a possible situation."

I could almost hear Yousef's eyes rolling as we entered the elevator. I knew already that he was a strictly by the book, pompous little prick who didn't like things being done in an unorthodox way. I also knew that he was supposed to be speaking to Warfstache on his own that morning. However, being that he was the secondary doctor on this case, I called the shots. And, to be quite frank, I liked seeing him squirm a little bit with the frustration of not being able to be in full control.

I'm not saying he wasn't good at his job, but sometimes he needed a swift kick in the entitlement every now and again.

"Tell me again why you have to be there with me while I speak to him?" Yousef asked, clearly becoming more irritable.

"As the primary on this case, I want to be present during each of his sessions." I explained. "This is a delicate case, and I am working alongside the authorities to get more information. The faster we can piece things together, the faster we can create a more accurate diagnosis and then formulate an appropriate course of action."

Yousef merely gawked at me, his mouth hanging open as if it were waiting for his brain to send it an argument. He came up with nothing.

Once we reached the residential floor, I stepped out and quickly made my way down to 0628. As I approached, I slowed my steps and glanced through the tiny window at the top of the door. Each door in this hall, which was labeled the 'solitary wing', was a copy of the one before it. The numbers were barely visible as they were written in tiny font above each of the letterbox windows on each one. A foot or so below each window was a locked slot used for slipping in food or reading material. I always sort of wondered how those patients in straight jackets ate...

As I peered through the window, I could see Warfstache huddled against the corner behind his bed. He stared up at the one window in his room, the beam of light coming through it illuminating the left side of his face. He had a small smile gracing his lips as he stared. The hairs of his mustache twitched and fluttered with each deep breath he took and his shoulders shook every now and then as he adjusted himself. All things considered, he looked quite comfortable.

As the others approached behind me, I stepped aside so that one of the orderlies could unlock the door. Warfstache didn't move a muscle as we entered, he simply continued to peer up at the window. I gave a look to the orderlies, silently instructing them to keep guard and a weather ear while we stayed inside.

Yousef stood at the door, hugging the edge of his clipboard to his chest with his pent at the ready while I sat on the chair next to the bed. There was a moment of tense silence before I cleared my throat, getting Warfstache's attention.

He turned to me as if I'd been there for a while. He looked at me expectantly, as though I'd been talking to him already and he was waiting for me to continue.

"Good morning, Colonel. How are you feeling?" I said pleasantly, leaning forward over my own clipboard.

"Oh, I'm doing just fine, my dear." he answered in a booming, joyful gale.

"You seem to be doing a lot better than yesterday." I noted. Yousef scribbled away in the corner by the door, reminding me that he was there. "I'd like to introduce a colleague of mine." I continued, waving an arm toward Yousef.

Warfstache turned to him, his smile turning up further as he nodded in greetings. "Bully!" he exclaimed. "And who might you be, my boy?"

Yousef quickly rushed forward, his shoulders back and his head high, and stretched out a hand. "Dr. Hillmeyer, I will be one of the doctors caring for you here at our facility alongside Dr. Antwood."

"Fine, fine." Warfstache answered, staring blankly at Yousef's outstretched hand. "Frogive me, my boy. A bit TIED UP at the moment."

"Oh.." Yousef blushed and cleared his throat before slinking back to his corner.

Warfstache returned his gaze to me. "Not a bright one, is he?" he asked.

I could hear Yousef blubber in defense, but I simply smiled and tried my best to hide my internal laughter.

"Now," I began. "I wanted to discuss a few things with you. The first being rather boring. The next...well that's up to you." I calculated his face, he seemed to be whimsically distracted, despite keeping his attention on me. "First of all, I want to tell you that we will be meeting three times per week. We want to ensure that you're getting the best of care, and keep up with how you're doing under the circumstances. You'll also be given some medication to level out your moods and keep you feeling comfortable while you're here."

"Is that what they're calling it?" Warfstache huffed. "I've taken more of those ghastly pills in one day than I ever have in my life. Well...I don't see that I have much of a choice in the matter at the moment, so I suppose I'll do just as you say and 'take my medicine."

As he spoke those last words, his arms twitched forward. I couldn't help but note that, and he definitely took notice.

"Hard to speak with my hands when they're wrapped up." He chortled.

"Well, in any case, what you've taken seems to be doing well with you. You were in a bit of hysterics yesterday."

"Was I? I don't recall." His voice seemed whispy, almost as if the words were not his own. While he did seem to be doing better, there were moments like this where I could tell his mind was trying to fight to come forward against the mind that was controlled by the medication.

I took this as an opportunity to move forward. In this better state of mind, perhaps we could get to the bottom of things.

"Now then, if you don't mind I would like to ask you a couple of things about the recent events, starting with yesterday."

Warfstache's expression went from pleasantly amused to slightly almost ecstatic. "I told you I can't kill anyone, didn't I?"

I maintained my composure. "You nearly did, I'm afraid. My orderly was sent to City Regional Medical Center for emergency care. That is what I wanted to ask you about. Why is it that you're under the impression that you can't kill anyone?"

He smiled widely and sputtered with nervous laughter. "Wha? PSH...Fuh...I told you. It's all a lark! At the party, my friends claimed I'd killed Mark! Almost convinced me that I truly had! The District Attorney even got me to shoot him. The lad got up not moments afterwards. I don't know I suppose I'm incapable of bringing harm." His shoulders rose and fell with continuous shrugs during this explanation, at the end of which his mouth hung open in a wide smile and he just shook his head. As if to say 'I don't know, that's just how it is.'.

"Unfortunately, though," I replied, with caution. "Mark Fischbach is dead. As for the District Attorney, he is missing along with the others that were present that night."

"Oh, come now!" Warfstache spat, turning to Yousef with a look of utter disbelief. "You people can't be falling for it that easily! I mean, I will admit I'm as prone to gullibility as the next person! But, after hearing it from the horse's mouth, clearly you can't be serious in telling me that you don't see the proof in the pudding!"

"I'm afraid not. You're saying that the joke is still on?"

"Wh...Why, YES!" Warfstache boomed, laughing out loud.

"Is it your friends that are still carrying it out? Is it...Damien and Celine?"

These were the words that cracked the stone. Warfstache's demeanor suddenly began to droop once more and he went silent. His eyes scanned the floor for an answer, and when he couldn't find one he returned his gaze to me.

"It can't be them." He breathed.

"Why not?" I pressed.

"Um...maybe I could-.." Yousef tried to interrupt, but I held up a hand to silence him. I kept my eyes wide open, never letting my gaze leave Warfstache's. I had him starting to open up, I wasn't about to let Yousef ruin it.

"They're not coming out...I don't know why...not even a good 'ol 'April Fool!' to finish the punch line." Warfstache moaned. The despair underneath was beginning to come to the surface, I could feel that the reality of everything was beginning to come forth so that we could have our first little breakthrough.

"Tell me, Colonel, what happened that night?"

His breath hitched in his chest and I could see his eyes begin to gloss over. He leaned forward, beckoning me closer with a jerk of his neck. I leaned in to meet him, folding my arms over my knees. Just as we met in the middle, I could feel his hot breath on my face. His hair hung low over his brow, scraping against his eyelashes as he gave me a wide eyed stare.

"The Detective..." he answered at last.

"The Detective is missing as well, you'll do well to be careful what you say considering you're a suspect." Yousef remarked as he jotted down his notes on the session.  
I turned to glare at him, but he simply kept his eyes on his paper. Warfstache clearly heard what he'd said and his head swiveled to face him, his eyes widened in an expression of rage.

"Are you helping him!?" he bellowed at Yousef.

"Helping who?" I asked frantically, desperately trying to return his attention to me to no avail.

Warfstache rose from the bed, I quickly stood and placed my hands hard on his shoulders. I pressed down, trying to keep him seated on the bed. Yousef backed against the wall, his chest puffing outward in a false expression of authority, his pen still moving rapidly over the clipboard.

"ARE YOU HELPING HIM!? ARE YOU GIVING HIM INFORMATION ABOUT ME!? ABOUT CELINE!? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING!?" This sudden rage overtook Warfstache like a plague. His eyes wild with fury, growing by the second while Yousef foolishly continued to take his notes.

From outside, the orderlies took action and entered the room without warning. Warfstache's eyes darted from one to the other, like a wild animal cornered in a cage. He cried out and tried to dart push past me and them as they approached. The strength he exhibited created tension in my arms and shoulders as I helped the orderlies get him back onto the bed. It was clear then that this session was over.

"YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME, BOY!" He cried angrily over the shoulders of the orderlies as they held him down. Yousef left the room, his eyes scanning his notes while I lingered in the doorway watching.

"YOU HELPED HIM, DIDN'T YOU!? I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!? WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM!?"

His gaze stayed on the empty spot where Yousef stood, as if he still believed he was there. I shook my head, disappointed that this seemed to go nowhere. I made a note to give Yousef a piece of my mind for interrupting the focus. We were getting somewhere and he ruined it by lacking a single scrap of empathy.  
Regardless of how this session had gone, I at least gathered two things:

Damien and Celine, two of the missing guests, had a vast impact on what had once kept this man's mind together. And the Detective, or at least something to do with him, had been the thing to finally help in breaking it.


	3. Allies

"What the HELL was that?" I cried as the door to Warfstache's cell slammed behind me, creating a booming echo to match the rage in my voice.

Yousef scurried ahead of me, his head buried in the notebook he'd been scribbling in the whole time. It was as though none of that session ever happened and he was lost in his own mind. I couldn't believe his carelessness, his lack of empathy toward the Colonel during the session. I knew the man was by the book but I didn't think he could be so heartless.

My strides widened as I stomped forward after him. I sunk my nails into his shoulder and spun him to face me. His eyes widened, taken aback by my actions. He wrenched his shoulder out of my grasp and raised a hand to rub it. Apparently my strength was higher than I thought when I'd done that.

"What?" he said, stupefied.

"What the hell is the matter with you?!" I screamed, my nose touching his as I lunged forward at him. "That was grossly unprofessional! During a session you are NEVER supposed to antagonize the patient! What do you have to say for yourself!?"

"The man is a murderer. He killed a man in cold blood and he's talking about missing persons that he very well could have killed as well. He clearly isn't well, I'll agree to that, but he still has to be treated as a suspect. You are also well aware that we are recording everything that he says and does. If the police get wind of that they could very well use it against him." Yousef replied, puffing himself out like an alpha penguin.

"Be that as it may, you were already aware of his violent tendencies and you still decided to egg him on. YOU are not the chief of police. You're a DOCTOR." I refuted through gritted teeth. "You are no longer the secondary on this case. I forbid it if that is how you are going to behave."

Yousef's pasty face seemed to grow even whiter. He dropped his arms to his sides and sputtered, shaking his head from side to side in disbelief. "You...you can't do that...I'll..I'll go to the Direc-"

"I can and I will. Go to Malkinson if you must but you have to be aware that if you do, your job will be jeapordized too." With that, I pushed past him and clomped my way to the elevator, leaving him slackjawed as the door slid closed behind me.

As the elevator opened again, I felt as if I was leaving a trail of smoke down the hall to my office. Every orderly and patient I passed seemed to sense this as they created a path for me, parting like the red sea for and angered Moses. I wasn't about to let anyone stand in the way of progress for Warfstache, not Malkinson, not Yousef, no one.

As I barged into my office, I stopped short when I noticed a man standing at the window on the far side beyond my desk. His arms were folded behind his back and he seemed to be observing the world below with an air of authority.

"Can I help you?" I snapped, startling him.

As he turned, I felt my blood run cold.

"Chief Berkowitz, I am terribly sorry for my-"

The Chief of Police held up a hand to calm me. "It's quite alright, Dr. Antwood. Please, have a seat." He motioned toward my desk and met me there, seating himself across from me.

"I've been, uh, wondering when you'd stop by. I've left messages." I stammered, embarassed by my outburst.

"It's been a rather busy couple of days. Markiplier Mansion is overrun by by officers and still we're not turning up a whole lot." He sat leaning to one side, leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair and let the corresponding hand do the talking. He never once looked at me as he spoke. He simply spoke to the air next to him, as if I wasn't even there.

"The crime scene is a mess. However, the Colonel's fingerprints are all over the place. On the gun we found at the bottom of the balcony. On the blood stains at both where Fischbach's body was and where we found the gun. We aren't sure whose body was there, but he must have hidden the bodies. I need to know what you've found out from him."

He suddenly stared at me over his wide brimmed glasses, calculating me. I could feel myself beginning to fume. It was bad enough that the Director was pressuring me into lying about Warfstache, but now here was the Chief, glaring me down trying to get some sort of incrimination from me.

"All I know is that the man is ill. Our first session didn't go so well. He's still quite delusional, I was ABOUT to get some information from him before-"

The Chief held up a hand, halting my words.

"Did he confess? That's all I care about."

"I'm not in the habit of interrogation, Chief."

"I'm aware. Did he confess?" He asked again flatly.

I glared at him, hoping to God he noticed that I wasn't going to be walked all over like some sort of ratty rug.

"No. He didn't confess. Even if he did, I wouldn't tell you myself. That is a violation of the confidentiality between a doctor and a patient."

"So you are going to be difficult?"

"I'm not saying that at all." That's exactly what I was saying. "I'm saying that until he's been fully evaluated, you won't be able to take him for your own interrogation. When I agreed to help with this case, I only agreed to evaluate his current mental condition. I never agreed to release anything other than that."

The Chief frowned and nodded. Clearly defeated. "That you did, I remember. That was why we brought him to you in the first place. BUT..." he paused, wiggling his chin back and forth as he scanned me up and down.

"When you are put on the stand, I expect you to be aware that you may have to divulge more information than you're wiling to give me now. What you do here may be helpful in your eyes, but in front of a jury and a crowd of angry Fischbach fans...not to mention family of those who have disappeared...you could be lynched. I want you to be absolutely sure of your findings. ABSOLUTELY sure. Before you say a word."

I already knew exactly what he meant. In that moment I felt more cornered than I had in my life. Like a rat at the back end of an alleyway, a hoarde of hungry stray cats slinking toward it...He and Malkinson were in cahoots...they both wanted to see Warfstache convicted and given capital punishment. It would look good for Malkinson and for the Police if a murderer like him were thrown into the chair and fried. Good publicity, more trust given to them by the public...

"Get out." I said in a low growl.

"I beg your pardon?" Berkowitz asked, slowly standing, his chest puffing out allowing his brass badge to glisten in the light.

I stood against him, feeling as though I suddenly towered over him.

"I said get out! I am going to handle this case my way. I'm not going to pretend that he is completely aware of what he did just to make you or Malkinson look good. I'm not going to sit around like your lap dog and do as I'm told just because you're attempting to intimidate me. I am going to help him, Warfstache, my PATIENT. Whether you or Malkinson like it or not. Now, get OUT!"

Berkowitz fumed as he left, mumbling angrily to himself. His eyes seemed to glow with a demonic rage as he hunched his head low, glowering at me while he stomped out of the office and slammed the door.

One thing was clear now. No matter which way I turned, there was someone against me AND Warfstache in this case. There was no justice here, no clear or definitive allies for us. It was just he and I against an entire world that wanted to see him burn. In that moment I felt the first twinge of fear of many that I'd feel during this case. Whether or not I put up a strong front to the Chief or the Director...I WAS intimidated a little. I was scared of losing my job and handing Warfstache over to someone else who would be willing to let him go down.

I knew then that I had very little time to crack open the mystery of all of this and figure out what went wrong in his mind...to understand what was going on in there and to help cure him at the very least. I knew that in cases of insanity, as long as a diagnosis was made and a rehabilitation plan was established, they couldn't convict him. I had to change my strategy, and I had to do it fast.

I stood on the dimly lit doorstep of Yousef's house for a long time, staring at the doorbell wondering if I should even try to speak with him. I knew how sour he could get, and after my little outburst, I didn't expect him to welcome me with open arms. But, if there was anyone I could hopefully count as an ally, it would be Yousef.

I reached for the doorbell, wiggling my hand to rid it of the anxiety it appeared to have as it shook before the porcelain cirlcle. Finally, I pressed my fingertip against the smooth surface and listened for the faint "bing bong" of the bell from within the house.

Muffled footsteps made their way toward me, growing steadily louder along with the nervous beating of my heart.

I was so used to seeing Yousef in a suit and doctor's coat that seeing him in striped pajamas was a bit alarming. I almost thought I'd rung the wrong house. Yet, there he stood, slightly unkempt holding a thick file in his hands that he suddenly tucked under his arm as he stood up straight. A look of contempt rearranged onto his features as he glared at me.

"Dr. Antwood." he greeted coolly.

"Yousef...I..." I stammered. I wasn't exactly sure what to say to him. My plan wasn't exactly well thought out, but I knew that I had to talk to someone about what was going on. Somebody had to be on my side in all of this. Someone other than a madman who had no clue about the horrible fate that others were trying to weave for him.

"Whatever you have to say, you'd better say it quick." Yousef interrupted. "I am very hard at work and I need to get this file done before I go to bed. Which I would like to do sometime before morning."

"I understand that you're busy." I began quickly, searching the air for words to use. "And I...I'd like to apologize...may I come in?"

Yousef hesitated, his free hand raking through his thick curls. I tried my best to give off as sympathetic an appearance as I could, appealing to his empathy with everything I had. Eventually, he lowered his head and stepped aside, beckoning me in.

"Thank you, thank you!" I said, a wave of relief washing over me. Perhaps this could work.

I had never once been inside Yousef's home. I'd worked with him for a long time, but I hadn't even darkened his doorstep at all. It was a cozy little abode arife with family trinkets. Deep mahoganies and oaks built up the walls and staircase that lay before me as it twisted up to the second floor. Beautiful works of art littered the walls, brightening up the dingy grey wallpaper behind them. To my left was the sitting room, which Yousef lead me toward. The ornate fireplace at the far end crackled with a joyful fire, warming up the room with its gentle glow. The room was darkly colorful, with deep reds and warming browns, and foresty greens coloring the furniture and decor. It almost reminded me of a Christmas postcard.

"Please, sit." Yousef said as he put a gentle hand on my back, motioning toward a tan colored clawfoot sofa.

Sitting on it felt like sitting on a stone bench, but that didn't matter to me. I removed my coat and bag from my shoulders and dug through the bag for Warfstache's file. I'd written a bit more in it after that day's session, merely recollecting the events that lead up to his outburst. Nothing substantial unfortunately. We had to hurry this up.

Yousef sat across from me in a chair that matched the sofa I sat on. He placed the heavy file on the oak coffee table between us and rested his elbows on his knees, watching me. It was, again, my turn to speak and I had trouble once more finding the proper words to start out.

"Listen, Yousef-" before I could continue, he held up his hands and smiled at me.

"It's all right, Miriam. I understand I acted wrongly. I read your first notes on the man and I couldn't help but kick myself for behaving like some sort of enforcement officer rather than a doctor. It was unprofessional and...I hope that you'll let me back on this case. I want to help you."

I calculated him for a moment, briefly suspicious of his sudden change of attitude. He sensed this immediately and gave out a nervous chuckle.

"Look, we've been colleagues for a long time but we've had very few cases together." He reached forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I just want to do right by you."

"I certainly hope you mean that." I began, trying my best to hide my suspicion. "I did in fact come here to ask you to come back to the case...but I also came here to tell you something that I need you to swear secrecy to."

Yousef retracted his hand, not in an offended way, but more puzzled. His eyes slivered and his brow furrowed in confusion. I understood his beffudlement, I myself couldn't fully wrap my head around it all still.

"Swear, please." I begged, putting forth the urgency immediately.

"Ok, I promise I won't utter a word." Yousef said, raising his hands and sitting back in his chair.

I stood, feeling the need to move. I paced the room for a few moments, my hand at my chin, trying to figure out how to approach this with a more well thought out plan. Yousef watched me, his head occasionally craning over the back of the chair when I was out of his direct line of sight. Finally, I stood before the fireplace, no doubt giving off a foreboding sillohuette.

"This case is sensitive." I began. "More sensitive than I even understood until the day before yesterday. I ask for your confidence on this because...honestly I don't have anyone else to turn to. I'm not sure who else could be in on this whole thing...and as you said we've known and worked with one another for years now. I respect you as a psychiatrist and as a colleague. Am I correct in saying you would do anything to protect your patients?"

Yousef appeared to be taken aback, and if anything even more puzzled than he started out.

"Of course. I took an oath, no matter what field I'm in I am a doctor and my patient's safety is of the utmost importance I assure you." he replied, the sincerity in his voice comforting.

I rushed to sit before him again, leaning forward with him doing the same to meet me halfway.

"Good. Because I'm going to need your help in protecting the Colonel." by the expression he gave me, I could tell I wasn't explaining this well enough yet. "Look...the morning before last, when Davidson was stabbed, Malkinson came to me. At first, he seemed genuinely concerned, but then he began talking about the 'good of the hospital' and that I 'didn't need to work so hard' in helping Warfstache. When I asked for elaboration, he told me that he wanted me to throw the case. Basically, he wants us to testify that he's of sound mind so that he can get the highest conviction for the murder. And today, the Chief of Police basically told me the same thing, they're in on this together. Trying to sabotage the Colonel so that the public doesn't completely melt down and have an outcry against the hospital or the department."

Yousef sat back, his face in a state of disbelief. He turned from me for a moment, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he stared off in to the fire, absorbing all of the information I had just dumped into his lap.

"To what end?" he asked at last. "What could possibly be gained from both parties?"

"Malkinson told me that because of the outrage against a beloved actor's murder, the perpetrator being executed will make them happy. If we help him with an insanity plea, it makes the hospital look sympathetic to a killer. If the police fail to bring that conviction, their trust for them goes out the window. I am not entirely sure how high this goes. I'm not sure if the judge is in on this as well. That's why I came to you."

I knelt on the floor in front of him, gazing into his eyes with an intense determination. He gave me a side glance, his hand still over his mouth resting under his nose.

"What I need from you is to help me to give an accurate diagnosis before the trial in two weeks. Once we do that, we need to keep the files in a safe place, where no one against us can get to them. I need you to be my lookout, in a sense. While the outburst today made it clear you probably can't be in the same room with the Colonel now, the very least you can do is keep an eye on our work while I'm with him to ensure no one comes in to sabotage it. If we can convince the jury at the very least that the man is ill, not a cold blooded killer, we can possibly save his life. Will you help me?"

He turned to me as I spoke, frowning with a deep concern that I knew all too well at that moment. I could feel that my eyes were pleading with him, welling up with anxious tears that came on their own. I must have looked downright pathetic, but if it helped to win him over, that would make all the difference.

Finally, he brought down his fist on the arm of the chair and placed his other hand on my shoulder, gripping it tightly.

"I'll help you. I'll help the Colonel. We can't let this corruption go without a fight. I've seen too many people wrongully executed for things that weren't their fault. I can't see that again."

I felt my face crack with a grin and I stood with him, breathless with relief. I couldn't help myself, I threw myself into him and wrapped my arms around him. Despite my strong will against both the Director and the Chief, the fear had become overwhelming. For my job, for the Colonel's well being, for the dark possibilities that surrounded this whole situation. To finally have someone else on my side was a breath of fresh air that I'd desperately needed.

He was surprised at first that I'd made such an intimate gesture of thanks, but he returned the hug with a pat on the back and I quickly retracted, rubbing the back of my neck in a slight feeling of embarassment.

He held both of my shoulders, returning my grin and breathing a quick, rough sigh. "So," he said, raising a brow. "Where do we start?"

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I apologize for the absence! I've had a very long couple of weeks with work and finally had a couple days to sit down and write. Expect Chapter 4 very soon!


End file.
